Clay
by ultraviolet9a
Summary: There are two secrets John hands down. And lots of clay. Obviously.[Spoilers for IMToD]


**Clay**

****

_Behold as the clay is in the potter's hand, _

_so are ye in mine hand _

_(Jer. 18, 6)_

There are two secrets John hands down right before he dies. One, he whispers in Dean's ear. The other he writes down in a careful letter and tucks it in Sam's bag, satisfied that he'll definitely see it and not lose it.

Then he leaves the gun as agreed, goes back to his room and falls on the floor as the world loses colour and substance.

John dies.

Dean remembers the exact moment he realized that mommy was gone. It wasn't when the fire broke out and wrapped up their life in flames. It wasn't when he was huddled with Sammy in a bed that wasn't theirs, falling asleep to the sound of their father choking his sobs.

Dean realized how reality had changed, when mom didn't show up to bathe him nor Sammy, and it was his father's hands that lathered and soaped and rinsed his sons' bodies.

And it wasn't as if daddy had never given them a bath before, or stayed by their side, as he let them splish splash in a half full bathtub with toy submarines and boats and rubber ducks, gently holding Sammy who was too young to be trusted alone.

It was how there were no rubber ducks the first weeks, and no soft fluffy towels that smelt of lavender or ocean breeze, and there was no laughter in their father and no wishy washy song.

Their life changed, and so did their father, and soon Dean was able to wash all by himself, and as time passed he was the one to help Sammy wash up when dad would be gone for days.

Dean and Sam have memories of dad coming back covered in scratches and bruises, and caked blood and ash and mud and dirt, and then disappearing in the shower and the water running for a long time.

They have memories (though fewer of them) of dad returning late at nights when he thought they were asleep, and there was a sickly sweet perfume trailing in the atmosphere after him, and cigarette smoke, and alcohol. There would be no mud or dirt or blood on him, nor bruises (except sometimes on his throat), but still he would go in the shower and the water would run even longer, and the next day dad would be more…loose somehow.

Till the next hunt.

"I'll do it," Dean says. "No one else touches him."

"But…" the nurse says and then Dean looks at her, and what his eyes are telling her is not that all hell is about to break loose if they don't comply to his wishes, but that hell is a walk in the park compared to the darkness and hollowed out stare he has to offer.

"I'll do it," Dean says again, and the nurse nods.

Dean remembers that one time when he managed to fall in poison ivy, and his arms and legs were all swollen and stung like hell, and dad had filled the bathtub with lukewarm water and had let him soak, providing some relief, and telling him stories about how in Africa or the jungle tribes would put a special sort of mud on them when they were stung by poison, and how the cool clay would bring relief.

He remembers that time dad was gone and Sammy was groaning in his sleep and Dean woke up and Sam was burning, burning up, and all Dean could think of was to let cold water fill the tub and sink Sam in it and dad had returned the moment he was about to phone for a doctor, but dad had taken them both straight to the hospital, and he had hugged Dean and told him he had done well, and then had fallen asleep with his head on Sam's bed, and Dean leaning against him.

The water now is cold to lukewarm too, but nothing is well about it, and there is a strange reversal of roles. He doesn't look at Sam, but can see his hands combined with his going over their father's body, washing him, cleaning him up, and if there's a sob stuck in Sam's throat too, he doesn't show it.

Dean's fingers comb through John's hair, over and over again, trail over his face, the softer skin of his shoulders and chest, memorizing the feeling. He is cold and rigid, and it matches Dean's feelings.

Dean remembers how many times either he or Sam or Dad would come back hurt and dirty from a hunt, and how each one would leave himself to the others' hands with no shame.

He thinks his father would have liked and understood what Dean and Sam are doing now, and how it's not about repaying the favour, but about trust and bonds of family and warriors.

Dean and Sam give their father his last bath, and don't realize how some of the water falling over him on the coroner's table is salty and falling from their eyes.

Dean thinks the knowledge his father has left him with weighs as much as the whole world. Sam knows that the secret dad left for him is even harder, because he has to hide it from Dean. But he tries to follow through.

After Dean sets fire to their father, after John Winchester is nothing more than ash and Dean leaves broken, Sam gathers up as much of the ash as he can. He realizes that John trusted him with this duty, because he knew Dean, and didn't want to break him any more.

"The demon… _Sam_…" John whispers in Dean's ear. It is a heavy secret, but John needs a safety net just in case…just in case he's wrong.

_Do you remember your folklore? The story about Phyrra and Deucalion? About Adam and Eve? What do you know about golems, Sammy? What do you _think_ you know?_ John writes somewhere in his letter. Then are runes and complicated pentagrams and incantations and instructions, in John's methodical step by step approach, and John thinks as he calmly writes, that this secret is even heavier, and has only one shot. And no safety net.

There are all sort of crazy thoughts passing through Dean's head. He remembers the mud pies he was baking with all the pretty girls in kindergarten. He remembers the little gingerbread men mom made when Christmas was near, and sometimes only because Dean would ask her to, watching her shape and decorate and bake them.

He thinks that similar crazy and irrelevant thoughts are passing through his brother's head, and he's right for the most part. At the moment Sam has a memory flash through his mind, of him joining one of Jess' pottery classes she was attending when they had first started dating, and how her hands shaped the clay, and how cold the clay was to the touch.

This clay is warm, as hot water falls on it lending it warmth for a moment before it dissolves it in big pieces that slide to reveal warm flesh, and for a moment both brothers have the same memory, of that time when they had gone to the playground after the rain had fallen and they started playing mud war and they came home looking like little chocolate men and dad had put them both under the shower and scrubbed and soaped and rinsed till they were clean again.

So now, heart beating loudly, and breathing fast, agony and hope as tight a blend as earth and water mixed to mud, they're returning the favour.

They wash clay off. Wash it off, and watch the new so familiar shape come to life, like a newborn, naked, disoriented and confused, but it's John coming out under that clay shell alright, it's John Winchester, and Dean and Sam wash off the clay that has brought their father back.

-The End.


End file.
